Gift Horse
by Susanne Barringer
Summary: Conversation fic, plus a little baseball for good measure.


TITLE: Gift Horse  
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer  
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.  
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST  
RATING: PG-13  
SPOILERS: Takes place after "The Unnatural."  
SUMMARY: Conversation fic, with a little baseball thrown in for   
good measure.  
DISCLAIMER: I am tired of writing these. Same as always.   
  
THANKS to Suzanne S. who never lets me forget I have a half-  
finished story lying around.  
  
For Suzanne O. who asked for a "hips before hands" story, a long   
time ago. Okay, so it's not the quite the one you wanted. :)  
  
_______  
  
Gift Horse  
by Susanne Barringer  
  
  
"Monday is Skinner's birthday." Scully slides into the chair in   
front of my desk.   
  
"Is it? I guess we need to get him a card." I push aside the papers   
in front of me. It's nearly 5:00 anyway, and it's clear Scully's here   
to chat, not work. I can tell by the way she's leaning back with her   
legs totally extended, crossed at the ankles.  
  
"We, Mulder?" She gives me a searing look. "*I* usually get him   
a card and you come in the morning of, having conveniently   
forgotten, and you end up signing my card." She's still got that   
searing look going on, but I know she's teasing.  
  
"Aw, c'mom. It's better that way anyway, everything equal   
between us--neither of us buying the $3.95 card when the other   
bought the $1.50 card." Scully glares another moment, then shifts   
in the chair to lean forward onto the desk.  
  
"I was thinking maybe this year we should get him a gift, a little   
something."  
  
"What the hell for?" I'm surprised Scully is suggesting such a   
marked change in the status quo. It's always been a card.  
  
"Skinner's been good to us this year. Since we got the X-Files   
back, he's been much more supportive of us and more lenient about   
our ... lapses in official protocol." She gives a slight shrug.  
  
"Scully, there's not a thing in the world you can get for a man like   
Skinner that he doesn't already have."  
  
She leans back in the chair again and lets out a heavy sigh. "You're   
so difficult, Mulder. Skinner's not the type to look a gift horse in   
the mouth. He's not going to say, 'Hey, I already have one of these.'   
Besides, it's the thought that counts, right?"  
  
I just know there's some kind of personal commentary on my gift-  
giving habits tucked away in those comments somewhere.  
  
I lean forward and meet her eyes. "So, if I gave you a toaster for a   
gift, and you already had a toaster, you wouldn't tell me?"  
  
She lets out a half-laugh. "If you gave me a toaster for a gift,   
Mulder, you'd have bigger problems than wondering if I already   
had one."  
  
"It's better than what I usually get you, isn't it, Scully?"  
  
"Nothing?" She lifts an eyebrow toward the ceiling. Touche,   
Scully.   
  
"Exactly." I've always had a feeling my sporadic gift giving   
bothered her. Now I'm suspecting I've been right all along.  
  
"Trust me, Mulder, you'd be better off giving me nothing than   
giving me a toaster. Or an iron. Or a blender." Her voice is still   
tinged with humor, despite the serious look she's giving me.  
  
"Okay, another example." I lean back and push my chair away so I   
can put my feet on top of the desk. "Let's just say, hypothetically,   
that I gave you a baseball lesson, and you already knew how to hit   
a baseball, would you tell me?"  
  
"Hypothetically? No," she says, her eyes not giving anything away.  
  
"So, you'd just let me teach you how to hit, even though you   
knew?" I try to look hurt. Her stifled smile tells me she isn't   
buying it.  
  
"I might learn something new," she says thoughtfully. "Hips   
before hands. I never heard that before."  
  
"Uh hum. So, it was all about hips before hands, was it?" I can't   
help but tease her, and the little half-embarrassed grin she gives me   
is pay-off for my attempt. It's not like I didn't know she wasn't as   
clueless about baseball as she pretended. She had two brothers, for   
gosh sake. I've never been sure why she played along that night.   
Now, however, I can't help but wonder if it was something more   
than the old gift horse.  
  
"Actually? Playing baseball? That was a nice gift, Mulder." She   
looks down and picks at the loose vinyl on the arm on the chair.  
  
"Was it?" I'm surprised she's confessing.  
  
"It wasn't a toaster at least."  
  
"Or a keychain?"  
  
She looks up quickly. "No, the keychain was fine. I just never   
understood it exactly. I mean, I thought I did, but I was never   
sure."  
  
I remove my feet from the desk and wheel forward so I'm leaning   
toward her again. "You and me, Scully, working together, and   
being good at it. About as unlikely and absurd as being able to   
walk on the moon. Seems impossible, but, in the end, not only   
possible but monumental."  
  
She smiles and nods her head approvingly. "Well, see, that's a   
good gift then. It's personal, meaningful, although it would have   
been nice if I didn't have to wait years for the explanation."  
  
"It didn't turn out to be quite the celebration I had planned. I'm   
sorry for that, Scully." Quite frankly, the evening had turned out to   
be a nightmare, Pendrell getting shot and all. It didn't exactly   
motivate me to plan another birthday party for her.  
  
"It wasn't your fault. It was nice, though. You know, just to be   
remembered and appreciated." She gives me a sincere smile.  
  
"You think I don't remember, Scully, but I do. I always do. I just   
don't always acknowledge it."  
  
"Dog years again, Mulder?" God, how many years ago was that?   
She still remembers our conversation.  
  
"February 23rd. The day you were born. About as monumental as   
the moonwalk."   
  
She gives me a smile of approval. Score one for me.  
  
"So, Scully, your birthday is in a couple of months, and I'll   
definitely get you something this year so you feel remembered and   
appreciated. Let's make sure it's not something you already have.   
Give me a couple of leads. What would make your day?"  
  
She hardly has to think at all. "Teach me to hit a deep fly ball."  
  
"A deep fly ball? I thought you said you knew how to hit."  
  
"Not very well. I didn't get much practice. My brothers always   
made me be the umpire."  
  
"Because you were a girl or because you were impartial?"  
  
"Because I couldn't hit a deep fly ball." She smiles. "For some   
reason, I could never get it up high enough."   
  
"It's physics, Scully. Control the bat and you control the ball." It's   
taking all my strength to resist the unintentional sexual innuendo   
flying around. Why does talking about baseball always sound like   
talking about sex?  
  
"You call that physics, Mulder? I must've missed that day of   
class."  
  
"You can cut the sarcasm. I'm just trying to help." I grin at her to   
show I'm teasing. "It's easy, really." I stand up and walk around   
the desk so I'm standing beside her. I pick up a pencil and use it as   
an imaginary bat. "You just come around from underneath and hit   
it up at an angle." I swing through to demonstrate the motion.  
  
"That's the thing." Scully stands up beside me and gets into a   
batting stance. "I could never figure out how to get from here..."   
she swings the imaginary bat up to her shoulder, "to here." She   
angles the bat downward. "I could never get enough of an angle to   
make it go way up high." She looks so serious about this, her brow   
creased in confusion.   
  
"Okay, come here, I'll show you. You have to lower your shoulder   
and hip to help create the angle."  
  
She takes off her suit jacket and drapes it over a chair, then follows   
me to a more open space of the room. She takes the pencil I hand   
her and uses it as the grip of a bat, then pretends to tap the   
imaginary tip of the bat against imaginary home plate.  
  
There's nothing to do but what I did before. I step up and wrap my   
arms around her from behind. Since there's no bat to share this   
time, I place each of my hands over one of hers to help her get the   
motion right. Immediately, I'm taken back to that night on the   
baseball field, how good she felt in my arms, how warm her body   
was against mine.  
  
Her hair brushes against my jaw and I remember how I whispered   
my version of sweet nothings in her ear. I haven't forgotten how   
beautiful that night was, but somehow I've managed to tuck away   
the details and remember only the bits and pieces.  
  
She kissed me that night before she left. It was just a quick peck   
on the cheek, but so out of character for Scully that I'd been taken   
aback by the simplicity of emotion behind it. Her gift to me that   
night, opening herself up to my lame attempt to show her I care   
about her, had meant more to me than my gift had meant to her, at   
least I thought so at the time. Maybe there was something to be   
said after all for the beauty of a gift freely given, even if you   
already have one.   
  
Now, as her body sways against mine with every test swing of the   
bat, I'm once again thankful for this woman in my arms and the   
way she never fails to surprise me.  
  
"Okay," I manage to pull myself out of my reminiscences, "this is   
your usual flat swing." I guide her hands into a swing from the   
shoulder. "Now, if you want to hit from below, drop the bat as you   
come off the shoulder, then push from the hip." She moves her   
arms slowly, following my direction, and I apply just the slightest   
of pressure to smooth out the move. She tries a few more swings.  
  
The way our bodies move together is something else I'd   
conveniently blocked out from that night. I try to keep my mind on   
the game.  
  
"Mulder, that doesn't seem like enough angle to really get it up in   
the air. I want an outfielder to catch it, not the second baseman."  
  
"I'm getting to that, Scully. Hold your horses." I take my hands off   
her hands and place them on her hips. Hips before hands. That, I   
will never forget. I still cannot believe she let me get away with it.   
"Now, we're going to add your body into the swing. That'll give   
you the extra angle and momentum you need to whack it out of the   
park." I only half know what I'm talking about and, most likely,   
half is generous. This moment is too sweet, however, to end the   
lesson now.  
  
"Hips before hands again, Mulder?" Is she teasing me? I can't see   
her face to know.  
  
"Yeah, but first bend your knees a little more. You want to be low.   
Then you're going to raise your hips--stick your ass into the air.   
You know, like the players you see on t.v. When you step to hit,   
lower your hips again and that'll give you some upward   
momentum." I push her hips down into place as she swings and   
wonder if she's actually buying this bullshit.  
  
"Like that?"  
  
"Yeah, almost. You've gotta get your hips really high first, then   
just..." I reach around and splay my fingers across her stomach to   
pull her hips up into position. I'm suddenly acutely aware that my   
pinky falls low across her pelvis, almost low enough to get me   
arrested under different circumstances. The curve of her belly lies   
perfectly in my hand, and I feel the warmth of her through her skirt.  
  
I'm not sure if she notices my errant pinky, but she pulls her pelvis   
up and back under my hand's guidance. The top curve of her ass   
comes flat in contact with my cock. She leaves it there, and a few   
moments pass before I realize I've stopped talking mid-sentence.  
  
"Mulder?" She turns her head slightly to try to look at me but she's   
too closely pressed against me to accomplish it. "Something   
wrong?"  
  
The little vixen knows exactly what she is doing. But, hey, two   
can play at this game. I don't remove my hand from its "assisting"   
position. "Keep your hips up like that, don't drop them until you   
step." My voice sounds hollow, and I swallow to keep my   
composure.  
  
"Like this." She takes a full swing, positioned just as I showed her.  
  
I snuggle up closer to her and wrap my other arm around her   
ribcage, just below her breasts. "Hear that, Scully?" I whisper into   
her hair.  
  
"Hear what?" She stands perfectly still, listening. I can feel her   
breathing, one breast grazing the inside of my elbow with each   
inhalation.  
  
"The crowd. They're cheering for you. You just hit a sacrifice fly   
deep to the center-fielder to drive in the winning run."  
  
I sense her smile. "Are they chanting my name, Mulder?"  
  
I pull her even closer against me so I can murmur against her ear   
like last time. "So loudly you can hear it a mile away. Scul-lee,   
Scul-lee, Scul-lee." She chuckles and I feel her laughter under my   
hands.  
  
"This is nice," she whispers, and I wonder if she means the   
adulation of the crowd, or my arms around her.   
  
She shifts slightly, her ass once again pressing up against me in   
that enticing way that makes my blood pound in my head. She   
keeps her position, listening to the crowd applaud her. I feel the   
pressure building in my groin, spurred on by the way she feels   
enveloped in my arms, the way I cover her so completely.  
  
I close my eyes and slowly slide my hand down a tiny bit across   
her belly, just enough so the movement is evident, but not enough   
to seem obvious. A small wail of pleasure, or could it be desire,   
rises from Scully's throat, and suddenly I feel a wave of   
uncontrollable heat soar between my legs. I drop my hands from   
around her and step back quickly, not confident enough that   
Scully's flirting is entirely in earnest and certainly not wanting to   
let her know how earnest I am.  
  
Scully takes another practice swing with the pencil, then a few   
more. All I see is her ass wiggling in front of me as she practices   
her new moves. She's a fast learner.  
  
I hightail it to my desk to hide the mounting evidence and sit down   
just as she turns to look at me.   
  
"That's it? That's my whole lesson?"   
  
"It's better with a real bat and something to actually hit," I mumble,   
trying to catch my breath. She walks over to stand in front of my   
desk.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Want to go to the batting cages?" She   
reaches over to hand the pencil back to me. Good God, this   
woman is going to kill me. The last thing I need is to go through   
all that again, in public no less.  
  
"Um, I think maybe we've had enough baseball," I fudge. She   
looks at me curiously, then smiles in such a way that I know she   
knows, which sets me quaking in my proverbial boots.   
  
"Let's go tonight. Consider it a gift from me to you, Mulder. A   
very early or very late birthday present."  
  
I find myself speechless. I have catalogued all of Scully's looks. I   
know when she is angry and when she is simply pretending to be   
angry. I know when she is fine and when she is only saying she's   
fine. This look that she's giving me now - I can safely say I have   
never seen it before. It leaves little for misinterpretation and a   
great deal for the imagination.  
  
"Relax, Mulder," she says, picking up her jacket from where she   
hung it over the chair. "It's not physics after all. It's chemistry."  
  
She slides into her jacket while I sit wondering if this moment is   
going to end up becoming missing time.  
  
"Meet me at the batting range at seven?" she says as she moves   
toward the door. "And don't forget your bat." I can do nothing but   
nod. She reaches for the doorknob.  
  
"Hey, Scully." At last I've found my brain, finally managing to   
untangle it from the dark heat in my groin. She turns back to look   
at me. "Maybe we should get a gift for Skinner after all."  
  
"Had a change of heart?"  
  
"I was just thinking about how nice it is to be, you know,   
remembered and appreciated."  
  
She nods in understanding. "We can pick up something this   
weekend. See you tonight, Mulder."  
  
Then she is gone, and I'm left staring down at the pencil in my   
hands, marveling that it is still warm from her grip. I take a deep   
breath to calm my racing thoughts, thankful for this gift of a   
moment in which an office was transformed into a stadium, and   
conversation into a seduction.  
  
  
END  
  
_________  
  
  
Send a fly ball my way: sbarringer@usa.net  
  
All my fanfic at http://www.geocities.com/s_barringer  
  



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